The Time Heiress (13 page)

Cassandra took her time answering. “I suppose it would depend. I feel responsible for Miss Bay’s safety while she is my companion, and I would not want her in a dangerous situation.”

Evie started to speak, but Miss Johnston jumped in. “I very much doubt that we will have any need to involve Miss Bay with anything outside of our ordinary activities while she is here. Lillian, I feel you have worried Mrs. Reilly. Those kinds of activities you speak of, people passing between the worlds of black and white, free and refugee; that is not the kind of thing we do.” She turned back to her guests. “We are much more apt to need you both for pamphlet folding and that kind of thing.”

“Yes, certainly,” Miss Ketchum agreed. “Forgive me if I implied anything terribly subversive.”

“You do tend a little toward the dramatic, my dear Lillian,” Miss Johnston remarked playfully.

“
I
tend toward the dramatic?” declared Miss Ketchum. “I do not think that
I
am the dramatic one in this household.” She threw her napkin onto her plate with great flair.

“Ladies!” said Mr. Evans. “No one can be accused of being more theatrical than myself! So why do not we put the whole topic to bed for the time being, and turn to lighter matters? When we are finished with our meal, I would like to propose that Mrs. Reilly regale us with some music on the pianoforte.” He turned to his dinner partner. “Are you willing?”

“I may be a bit rusty,” Cassandra replied truthfully. “I have not played for over a week.”

“Please, Mrs. Reilly,” begged Mr. Evans. “I have been looking forward to hearing you play ever since I learned that you are a musician.”

She smiled. “Very well.”

As soon as the last bites of after-dinner fruit and cheese had been consumed and the table cleared by many hands, the household and their guests moved into the parlor. Sarah Johnston asked Caleb to walk her back to the church rectory, saying she was tired, and the remainder of the gathering settled into chairs and sofas. 

At the piano, Cassandra ran through a few scales to warm up. She trembled slightly, thinking that Benedict had touched those very keys with his own hands. Everyone watched her. Anna Mae and Caroline came in from the kitchen and took chairs near the door. Cassandra closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then launched into the opening bars of a Chopin waltz. It was a complex piece, one of the composer’s more difficult, and her concentration was intense as she maneuvered through the first few minutes. Soon she relaxed, losing herself in the haunting beauty of the melody, the joy of being at the piano after so many days away washing over her. She was entirely comfortable with the piece, having played it for years. She forgot about the audience and threw herself into the music. She closed her eyes and thoughts of Benedict swam before her, but his face was indistinct and hazy, the memory of his features fading. A moment later it was Nick’s image that was clear in her mind’s eye, accompanied by a sting of disappointment over his recent behavior. She shook it away and returned her attention to the music only. She was startled at the applause when the piece ended.

“Another, another!” her audience called.

Cassandra gave them Beethoven, Haydn, Mendelssohn, music only written before 1853. An hour later, she finally insisted on stopping.

Mr. Evans stood to go and kissed her hand.

“You are truly an artiste, Mrs. Reilly!” he proclaimed. “I have heard some very fine musical performances in my day, and truly, yours was among the optimum.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra said, eyes downcast.

“I hope to see you again very soon,” he uttered close to her ear. He then took his leave with a warm word to each person.

Caroline and Anna Mae returned to their duties, Samuel returned to his work in the garden, and Miss Johnston and Miss Ketchum took up their needlework. Cassandra and Evie settled in with their books, but once Cassandra saw their hostesses had dozed off, she beckoned Evie into the library. She closed the door and motioned her to sit in one of the old, leather chairs.

“Evie, we have to talk about what was said at the table. You cannot think of participating in the activities that these people are involved with. Not only could it be dangerous, but you could inadvertently change history.”

“I know. I only said that I would so that they would know I was completely sympathetic and so they would accept me into the family circle without hesitation. Besides, their activities seem quite benign.”

“Well, we must be careful. Racial dynamics were very complicated in this day with some black people free, some slaves, some runaways. This household is very radical in its ease of racial interaction. Impressive, really.”

“Yes, I feel very comfortable here.”

“Just do not let yourself get talked into anything, and check with me first if they ask you to do anything.”

“Of course, Cassie.” Evie smiled. “By the way, don’t you think there’s something odd about Miss J. and Miss K.’s relationship?”

“Yes, something a bit nontraditional, if you ask me.”

“Downright taboo for this time period, wouldn’t you say?”

“Do you really think they are—?”

“Well, you never know.”

Just then there was a knock at the door and they both jumped.

“Miss Bay?” Caleb’s voice came through the door.

“Yes, come in,” she said.

He opened it and looked in. “I have just come back from walking Mrs. Johnston home, and I was wondering if you would come out into the garden with me for a little while and have a cup of tea. It is such a beautiful afternoon.”

“That sounds very nice. Mrs. Reilly, will you join us?”

“No,” Cassandra said, “I think I should like to get back to my book.”

As Evie passed out of the room, Cassandra cast her a warning glance, but the young woman ignored her.

Lill got better and then on the fourth night, we left Katie and Elijah and headed on up toward Maryland. Katie had a great knowledge of plants. She drew with some charcoal on an old rag pictures of plants and berries that we might find to eat around those parts.

We slept in the woods by day and walked by night. Elijah told us it would be about three days walking to get to the big water he called the Chesapeake, but before we got there we would have to cross two rivers. He looked Sam up and down and said they were not deeper than he was tall, so if he carried me and Lill over one at a time on his back, we should make it. Well, in one night’s walking we got to the first river and started across at daybreak, with me on Sam’s back first to make sure it was safe. The water came up to his shoulders, so it was not too bad. It tired him out walking with me, then goin’ back, then with Lill, ’specially being as hungry as I knew he was. He stripped out of his clothes and I carried them so they would be dry and would not slow him down.

Before we slept for the day, I managed to catch three fish from the river with a stick, strong threads from Lill’s skirt, and one of her hairpins. Sam scraped ’em with a sharp stone, and we built a small fire with a bit of flint I had. They tasted so good! The first cooked food we had had in two days. We slept in the woods again, all curled up together for warmth.

From Caleb Stone’s narrative, as remembered by Dr. Cassandra Reilly

*****

“Mrs. Reilly, Miss Bay!” cried Mr. Evans as he crossed the threshold into the parlor the next morning, startling Cassandra at the piano. She had just finished playing a Beethoven sonata. Evie looked up from the book she was reading and smiled at him.

“Mr. Evans!” Cassandra said. “I did not hear you come in!”

“And so I had you at an advantage, as I have been standing in the entryway enjoying your playing for the last ten minutes.”

“It is heavenly, is it not?” Evie remarked. “I could listen to it all day.”

“And yet, that is not why you came to New York, to lounge about inside on a beautiful day such as today, is it? Come, you two, let us go out and explore. I want to show you the western end of Greenwich Village.”

“Oh yes,” said Cassandra. “We were going to go out after lunch, and that is certainly one of the areas we had on our list.”

“I can show you a fantastic place for oysters. Let us have lunch there! It is my treat.”

“We could not dream of imposing, Mr. Evans,” Cassandra said.

“No worries there, Mrs. Reilly, it is quite inexpensive. I know all the spots for a good meal at a low price.”

“Well. then, let us go. I am ready.” Cassandra rose from the piano. “Are you Miss Bay?”

Evie stood, but did not remove her finger from the place where it marked her book. “Oh, dear,” she said and sat down again.

“What is it?” said Cassandra, going to her.

“I think I am not feeling well.”

“What? Oh my goodness, then I shall not go.”

“No, no, no, I will not have you miss your chance to have a personal tour with Mr. Evans. It is only a bit of an upset stomach. I am not used to the rich food that Anna Mae prepares. I will take a bicarbonate of soda and will be myself again shortly. But I think a lunch of oysters will not agree with me today. Please, go on, and do not worry about me.” She took Cassandra’s hand and patted it.

“Evie, I could not dream of leaving you if you are not well,” Cassandra whispered close to her ear.

“I am fine. But we have been out exploring so much, and as I said, I am not used to the food. Let me have a day to rest and I will be back to normal tomorrow.” She gave her a weak smile.

“I am sorry you are not feeling well, Miss Bay, but if it is to be just you and I, Mrs. Reilly, so be it! Shall we?” He motioned Cassandra toward the door.

“And what about Miss Johnston and the others—would they not care to join us? They are working at the church this morning. Why don’t we go by and collect them?”

“Trust me, they will not be distracted from their duties. Come, Mrs. Reilly, the oysters await.”

“Very well, then,” she said. “Good bye, Miss Bay! Do take care!”

“I shall! Have a wonderful time.” She opened her book again.

Cassandra and Mr. Evans moved into the entryway.

“You will not need a shawl; it is quite warm,” he said as she reached to take it off the rack by the door.

Cassandra placed a bonnet on her head and they stepped outside. He led her downtown and to the western part of Greenwich Village, through winding, narrow streets and past brick townhomes dating from the Colonial era.  

Cassandra found herself fascinated with Mr. Evan’s knowledge of architecture, literature, art, and music, but especially politics, a subject she was not as familiar with in regard to the time period.

“I feel the country is having an identity crisis,” he was saying as they made their way toward the Hudson River, “that the push for abolition from the North is going to split our nation in two.”

“That would be a terrible thing.”

“And I cannot help but wonder where Kansas is going to stand. Will it come out as a slave or a free state? Already blood has been shed in that struggle.”

“I pray they will side with the North.”

“Yes, but it does not look as though they will. Then, of course, there is the new, western frontier. If we cannot decide whether the entire nation is free or not, which side will the west be on?”

“I hope nation-wide abolition can be adopted without a schism in our republic and without more blood being spilled.”

“I doubt that will be the case. War is a terrible thing, but I do not see the nation resolving the matter peace-ably. One would think, after fighting so hard for independence, and the subsequent battles we have had for territory, we could find our way to being truly united. But what did the Revolutionary War really achieve for us as a nation beside autonomy from Britain? Seventy years after the Constitution was adapted, Democracy seems to be working, yes, but as we see, it is not democracy for all, only for white men of means. Capitalism, the economic system we worship, has taken the nation by the throat and there must be some laws and limits imposed if it is going to work for everyone. I tell you, Mrs. Reilly, I fear for the poor, especially the new immigrants and the Negro population—both of them in the same economic boat. In this city, we see the results of this injustice in the Five Points, where conditions are reaching the tipping point.”

“Oh, yes, I have heard how terrible it is.”

“But there are reasons the people act this way. It is a reaction to the oppression put upon them. Yet oddly, though violence often erupts there, there is also a certain amount of, ahem, love between the races, if I may speak frankly.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to comment, but he continued. “But Five Points is an anomaly. Achieving any kind of love between the races is a hard fought battle everywhere else in the nation. And the battle has only begun.”

They arrived at the river and stood silently on the dock. New Jersey was a verdant sweep of hills and trees across the water. They watched as steamers and tug boats came in to port, while others lumbered up the river or out into the harbor. Eventually they turned and walked back through the city past several small shops, until one caught Mr. Evans’ eye.

“My favorite bookseller! Let us stop in and see what is new.”

Cassandra was thrilled to have the chance of looking around inside. A small, bespectacled man looked up as they walked in and nodded at Evans with recognition, then went back to arranging books on a table.

Cassandra scanned the shelves, looking for Austen in the alphabetical arrangement, while Evans perused a display of new books. One dusty copy of
Pride and Prejudice
was there. She was mildly surprised, knowing Jane Austen was not widely read yet in the states. She pulled down the leather bound book, embossed with gold lettering, and gently opened it. The fine leaves were untouched, slick and smooth. She held it to her face and inhaled deeply. The smell was of wood and ink. Evans came and stood behind her.

She turned to him. “You said you have read
Persuasion
.”

“I have read all six of her novels.”

“Where did you find them?”

“I traveled to England when I was a young man, around the time Miss Austen’s books were being generally circulated. A friend there introduced me to her work, and I could not read them fast enough. I adore her sharp satire.”

“What year were you there?”

“1820.”

Cassandra trembled internally for a moment. “And what cities did you visit?”

“I was mostly in London.”

She could have passed the teenaged Evans in the street and not known it.

“Are you going to buy it?” he asked.

She considered doing so. It would be a wonderful treasure—the best souvenir so far of her trip. But then she placed it back on the shelf. “No; I would rather leave it here for someone else to enjoy. I have already read it.”

“Is she popular in Boston?”

“No more so than in New York, but I make a point of investigating new or little known authors. I am an avid reader.”

“As am I,” he said.

They locked eyes for a moment, then she moved away. “I am getting hungry for those oysters.”

“Yes, then, let us go.”

“Mr. Frasier, good afternoon.” He bowed to the shopkeeper.

“Good day,” Cassandra said.

The man merely nodded again and resumed his work.

Another few minutes walking brought Mr. Evans and Cassandra to the open-air restaurant. Patrons sat at wooden tables and benches arranged on a sawdust-covered floor. Large bins of ice filled with oysters and clams of every variety surrounded the perimeter of the space, and at the back, great ovens and kettles hung over fire pits roasting, frying, and steaming. They found a vacant table and Mr. Evans called for two pints of ale, which were hurried over by a young boy, no more than twelve with a dirty face, worn clothing, and sharp eyes.

Her companion ordered a dozen raw oysters for both himself and Cassandra, half a dozen fried, and a bucket of steamed clams for each.

“Is it too much for you, Mrs. Reilly?” he asked with hint of dare in his voice.

“Not at all.”

The raw oysters arrived in short time, with a bottle of hot sauce, a basket of saltine crackers and two lemon halves. Cassandra took up her lemon, squeezed it over the wet, silvery flesh, sprinkled them with hot sauce, and then slurped each one down in turn. She savored their slick, slimy texture and salty ocean essence as they gave their live bodies to her in limpid sacrifice. She closed her eyes, feeling as if she could taste the whole of the sea in her mouth, tinged with citrus, spiced with hot pepper. The flavor was gone in a flash and lived all over again with each subsequent victim.

He watched her with amusement. “Another dozen, Mrs. Reilly?”

“Oh, I could easily eat another dozen or two, but want to save my appetite for what is to come.”

She ate a saltine and swigged some ale, and in a moment the fried delicacies were before her, then quickly devoured as she popped them in and chewed them up. She delicately dabbed at her lips with a napkin while she waited for Mr. Evans to finish. Soon a tin bucket of steaming Little Necks was placed before each of them. He ordered another ale from the boy, and, not to be outdone, Cassandra downed hers and called for another as well. Wanting to savor the clams, she took her time, plucking them up one by one with tongs, spearing the meat inside with a tiny fork, and chewing each thoroughly, in ecstasy over their delicate headiness. She ate every one of the three dozen or more in the bucket interspersed with saltines and ale, then ate the half a dozen that Mr. Evans left unfinished.

“I declare you the winner!” he said as she finished the last one. “A victory for woman-kind!”

“Thank you. I accept the honor!”

Mr. Evans paid the bill, and as she rose to go, she felt the effects of the alcohol. They swerved through the tables and out onto the street.

“Let us sing Ida Mae!” he exclaimed loudly.

“Ida Mae? What is that?”

“Come now, you must know it. It is what everyone is humming these days.”

“Perhaps not in Boston.”

“Perhaps not in your sheltered little circle,” he said, smiling down at her.

“What do you know of me and my circle? My friends and I are quite progressive, though perhaps we do not spend much time in taverns singing bar songs.”

“Bar songs! It is a ballad of love! Here, let me teach it to you.” He sang it, and she rapidly caught on to the lyrics and the melody. They walked arm and arm toward Fifteenth Street and by the time they were nearly at the Johnston house, Cassandra realized, from the looks they received from people on the street, that they were singing very loudly, and that she was quite closely pressed up against him. When they reached the door he let her go with some reluctance. The sun was sinking low in the sky. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips, his eyes closed. When he lifted his head he retained her hand, looking at her, his expression serious.